


Aw hell i have to title this

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Former Rivals to Lovers, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hey, look. They're roommates.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been in vague planning stages for a while here we go. I did not proofread this at all.

On the first day of university, you walked up six flights of stairs and opened the fourth door to your left. Inside was a tiny kitchen area, a bathroom, a closet, a single desk, and a bunk bed. On the bottom bunk was a man your age, small and hunched over and swimming in an enormous black hoodie.

You closed the door to your new room, and dropped your bag on the floor. "Hey," you said, "name's Dave. Dave Strider. You're the roommate, right? That's super cool. I'm really hyped for this. Had a rough Summer. How 'bout your Summer? Nice hoodie."

You held out a hand.

He stared at it briefly, before looking up at you. Even in the tint of your shades, you could tell his eyes were an unusual color. His expression was blank when he told you his name was Karkat Vantas.

You hadn't known what to say. It was like time stopped for a moment, like it was just the two of you and neither of you were breathing. You retracted your hand, and tried to play it off. You ran the hand through your hair, and tried to give him a smile. No bullshit. Genuine. "Ah, cool. Nice to meet you. Did you claim bottom bunk? I can take top if you want. I'm not picky."

And for Karkat you wouldn't be. He could have what he wants.

He never answered you. He sighed, got up, and moved to the bathroom. You heard him lock the door, and didn't see him again until much later in the night after he had come out and fallen asleep. He had still been asleep the next morning, and you left him to his own devices. You didn't push anything.

On the third day of university, you found yourself in your first class. It was a film class, meant to fulfill some of your art credits, but it revolved around romance in theatrically released media. Apparently this also goes towards whatever Karkat's degree is. He sat at the other end of the room from you, taking notes and tapping a pencil lightly. A few times you noticed him fidgeting with something under the table.

You waved to him at the end of class, and he ignored you. When he came in that night, he collapsed on his bed and went to sleep immediately.

On your eighth day of university, Karkat played on a 3DS in bed. At this point, you were uncomfortable, and unsure how to approach it. You tried being friendly, you've tried being nice. You made him breakfast on Friday morning, aware that his class was in the afternoon. He had eaten it, but didn't say anything at all.

On Sunday you asked him if he wanted to watch Titanic with you, since you have to analyze it for class. He declined, and watched it on his laptop with headphones.

Three weeks after your first day of University, you had decided that your initial fear has been proven to be true: Karkat Vantas has not forgiven you, and you are probably stuck with a roommate who hates you.

Let's rewind.

You're twelve years old. You get a message from some guy on MySpace. He tells you that you're ugly and weird, and your new friend Terezi isn't interested in dating you. You message Terezi, and she tells you it's her weird friend Karkat who you should ignore.

This becomes difficult, because he won't leave you alone.

He comments on all your selfies, and all your posts. He messages you insults daily, and he harasses your friends. Adult you would be scared that one of Bro's fans has found out who you are, but twelve year old you thinks he's hot shit who's stressing out some ugly loser who hasn't come to terms with the fact that chicks will never be interested in desperate wannabes.

Shit's euphoric, honestly. You begin to bite back, and you bite back hard. He calls you a pretty boy, you ask why he thinks you're pretty. You send him into a tizzy, telling him he's jealous of you, that it's obvious why he has no selfies on his profile. He insults your intelligence, you call him desperate. He accuses you of stealing his girlfriend, you tell him you will. You target his interests, his extremely girly hobbies, the way you just know his dad is a weak piece of shit. You find out he likes some boys you know, and you lose your mind about it for four months. You may have been projecting a bit with that one.

You exchange cruel messages for months, more than a year in fact, until one day CPS knocks and suddenly you have more problems than teenage internet drama. You stop caring very quickly about antagonizing Karkat Vantas, disabling your social media and using your new minutes plan to call your friends instead. You still texted Terezi a lot. You needed the support.

You forgot about him, save for the occasional night time ponderings, where you'd lay awake and think about every stupid thing you ever said, did, or imagined. You thought about the mean things you said, and how you didn't really mean them because he just seemed like some guy who needed to be bigger than he was.

Really, you were just kids.

But that was at night. And during the day you went to high school, and helped your mom, and called your dad, and hung out with Rose. You had a girlfriend for a while, in 11th grade, and you eventually told your family you're bi.

You moved back in with Bro when you graduated high school, able to do so now that you're a legal adult. Spent three months attempting to sort that wreck out, before heading back to school, running up six flights of stairs and opening the fourth door on your left.

So, Karkat Vantas hates you. If you had known you were going to eventually see him in person, let alone that he would literally live directly underneath your bed, you would have expected that. Maybe you would have even apologized via Facebook or something.

Is it worth apologizing now?

Three weeks of what could possibly be classified as hostility has gone by, and you're both tired and sad and very very anxious. To make matters worse, he seems like a nice dude. He likes trash food, doesn't clean very much, but clearly adores cute aesthetics and fun games. You listen to him play Pokemon, and you see his cute Sanrio phone charms. He's friends with nearly everyone you know. 

And he isn't _mean._ You'd expect him to be mean, to throw a hurricane of insults the likes of which you'd never heard at your face. But he didn't, which is much more unsettling (especially since you hear him loudly insult his best friend whenever they're near each other).

Three weeks after your first day of university, Karkat is on his bed, reading some large textbook you have no interest in as you pace back and forth in your shared bathroom. You don't know what to do. He doesn't seem… mad at you? He even eats whatever the hell you give him, and he answers questions and is quite accommodating in terms of being a roommate. But you live with him, and he refuses to hold conversations or do any activity with you at all.

You slump onto the tiles, your legs still restless but needing to calm down. You can't leave university, because if you do then you have to go live with Bro for a while and you _really_ don't want to do that. And honestly? You want to be Karkat's friend. You haven't wanted anything else this badly in ages. The desire to be friends with the cryptic fucker who won't talk to you past what is polite due to a history of middle school rivalry but is still friends with everyone you know is so strong you don't know what to fucking do with it.

You clench your fists, and strengthen your resolve: you _will_ befriend Karkat Vantas. You're going to be the best fucking friend he's ever had. You may even apologize for that time you told him his face looks like dog shit. Maybe. If he doesn't remember you doing that then that may be pretty awkward.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear Karkat sneeze loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll prolly fix this shit up or something in the morning. I'll also probably actually title it in the morning. Who knows. Anything could happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw panic attacks, needles, detailed description of injections, little bit o' blood, mention of former abuse
> 
> I have extreme needlephobia and i would not read this if i hadnt wrote it, so dont read this if youre bothered by needles/injections

Dave Strider's kind of a weird little bitch.

You always thought of him as a pretty normal guy, the kind meant to specifically antagonize your weird gremlin status. He probably played sports or something in high school. Who knows! It's not like you ever gave a shit about him.

But now he lives with you, and he's super weird. He makes hideous drawings, compulsively cleans everything that isn't yours, and you _think_ you've heard him crying in the middle of the night as he stares out your dorm window. Whatever the fuck _that's_ about (you really don't want to know what that's about).

So no, you increasingly suspect that Strider is not the chad to your virgin. He's just some annoying art guy. Like every other art guy you've ever fucking met.

Now if only he'll leave you the fuck alone.

You mind your business: you don't want to trouble him, and you don't want him to trouble you; so you spend your time quietly doing whatever you can to avoid him. But he _hovers._ Every goddamn day you try to play video games, or god forbid do your fucking homework, and this weirdo paces around the room and stops to tell you something only to change his mind and look like some pathetic animal backed into the corner of a cage.

Like, what the hell are you even doing to him that makes him so fucking panicked? Jesus.

Maybe it was the abuse? It was probably the abuse. Of course, you learned about the whole Dave was actually being abused and had to move and it was all very dark and stressful business, because all your friends talked about it. None of those bitches have any sense of secrecy. So maybe it's some side effect of that, the whole nervous and shy thing. That, or the fact that you used to be a huge dick to him.

Obviously, that's a big reason why you leave him alone. You were both kids, but as you've gotten older the more embarrassed you've felt over how you had treated Dave Strider. Of course, he was no angel either, but it makes sense that he'd react so much to your constant bizarre and insecure assaults on his looks and character. No matter how you think about it, it's best you avoid talking to him. Too humiliating that you treated someone like that, and you don't want to make his anxiety worse.

Surely he has nothing but bad memories of you. Which makes it even nicer that he says hello and offers you whatever food he just made. Of course you take it, because you'd be an asshole otherwise (also, it's good).

Today in particular has been awkward. It's a Sunday, and you've already finished your analysis essay, so you're lying in bed reading Twitter while Dave pretends he isn't having a panic attack in the bathroom. You've been trying to ignore it, because you're sure he wouldn't want you to know he's having a panic attack, but at this point he's been in there for over an hour and you're getting a little worried about whether or not he's ok.

What if he's hurt in there?

You roll over to face the wall, screwing your eyes shut and trying to think of anything else. It doesn't work; you can still hear Dave's shallow breaths bouncing off the cheap dorm walls. Hesitantly, you get out of bed and knock on the bathroom door. Dave makes a pained noise, and your heart sinks. "You ok in there?"

"I'm fine!" He says quickly. "I'm good, great even. Just doing something. Do you need the john? I can get out for a minute. I'm just, uh, trying to stab myself with a needle."

"Oh. Do you need help?" You ask him automatically.

"What??"

"Do you need help stabbing yourself with a needle. I have diabetes." He doesn't respond, so you elaborate. "I take insulin shots."

"Oh, right. Insulin. Yeah, ok. That could help?"

You open the door, which you discover was unlocked, and find Dave in his boxers sitting on the closed toilet seat with an injection pen in his shaky hands. On the floor is a box, with various packaging supplies and what appear to be medical pamphlets littered about. Ok, normal stuff. "Are you new to this?"

"No," he fidgets absently with the pen, which isn't the best idea but you don't say anything. "I've been taking it for a while, it's just that usually someone else does it cause I freak out too bad. I did it on my own last month, but it was hard. Took like three hours. … I'm kind of afraid of needles. And anything that, like, punctures my skin. You know. The violence of it is sort of jarring, right? It's violent in a really small way, and that's almost more sinister. Fucked up, huh?"

"Sure." You didn't catch most of that. "Do you want me to do it?"

"Yes," he says immediately, and then pauses before saying "I mean, if you want. It'd be cool. I don't normally suck this bad, just to be clear."

"You don't suck," you mumble, and you get down on the floor to inspect the injection site.

He points to a spot on his thigh, babbling as he hands you a sanitizing wipe. He's probably extremely nervous. You're not sure why he's letting you do this to him. You hold out a hand for the pen, and Dave stops talking as he hands it to you.

You line the pen up with his thigh, and look up at his face. It's unfortunate, you think, that the first time you've seen him without sunglasses it's when his eyes are this blown with nerves. Oh well.

"I'm going to count down," you tell him, but he stops you.

"Just do it, man. Don't drag that shit out."

You sigh, but you grab his thigh with one hand and jam your thumb on the top of the pen. It makes a startling CLICK sound and Dave yelps, screwing his eyes shut and biting on one of his hands. A single tear slips out, and you avert your eyes back to his leg. Lifting the needle out, you catch a little droplet of blood, and you feel ill.

"Could you get the rest?" You ask, handing him the pen. Surprisingly, he takes it and nods. "I can't stand blood."

"You've gotta be kidding me, dude. That's so fucked, you can inject yourself but you can't see the blood. I can stand the blood but the needle freaks me out. Man, what the hell." You lean against the wall and close your eyes, listening to him clatter around your bathroom for a band-aid. When he tells you to look, he's standing above you, leaning down with his hands behind his back. Behind him, the bathroom floor is devoid of packaging supplies, so he must have cleaned it up.

Strider smiles down at you, and his eyes have a surprisingly bright shine to them. "Thanks, Vantas. Here."

Before you can push him away, he quickly slaps a Hello Kitty bandaid onto your nose. "What the fuck!" You yell, but he grins at you.

"That's a present for helping me, obviously. You get a cool band-aid, which is basically just a weird sticker anyway." Before you can say anything else, he walks out of the room, leaving you on the bathroom floor with a stupid cute band-aid on your nose.


End file.
